Doctor's Note
by ZafiraMente
Summary: Clint and Natasha after a job. Natasha actually has grown as a person since joining SHIELD and healed some wounds.


AN: I was trying to write a chapter for "First Blush", but it didn't seem to fit with the feel of the arc there. Similar themes though about their relationship. I don't own the characters, of course.

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><p>"Ow!" Clint cried out indignantly as Natasha pulled shards of glass from his back.<p>

"Stop being such a baby." She rolled her eyes, sure that although the archer couldn't see her face, he would know it was being done anyway. She carefully pulled out another piece and dropped it onto the dresser with a 'tink' sound. "It's your own fault anyway. The other window had already been shot out."

He twisted his head around to glare at her. "I can't control which window I'm going to be thrown out of!"

She shrugged in the implacable 'perfect spy' manner she had that drove him up a wall. "I think this is the last big piece. Glue or tape? Your choice," she offered hospitably.

"Tape. Over faster," he grumbled, gripping the side of the bed tightly.

Natasha pulled out a roll of packing tape, ripped off several long strips and laid them across his back. Smoothing them gently first, she pulled it slowly away, pulling out all the small shards that she couldn't see well. "See? Now that wasn't so bad."

She pulled out a tube of antibiotic ointment and applied it evenly across his back, not even aiming for specific wounds. It had a mild anesthetic in it as well, so wearing a shirt tomorrow without a bandage wouldn't be torture for him. The assassin carefully wiped the excess ointment from the larger slices, which were still oozing. Using a few drops of medical super-glue, she quickly closed those wounds as well. "All done."

"Well that thoroughly sucked." Clint complained as he stood up. "Do you have anything that needs dressed?" His eyes took her in more critically than when they first made their exit. That once-over had been perfunctory to make sure she was more or less in one piece. Now he looked for the more subtle signs that she needed care, rips in fabric or droplets of blood.

"No. I'm fine." Natasha laid back and stretched. "Some of us are professionals." She smirked at him, then became more serious. "But really, thank you. It should have been me through the window."

Her partner only shook his head as he carefully pulled a light t-shirt on, to keep the ointment from getting all over the bed while they slept. "You know that's not true." He turned off the overhead lights and laid on the bed next to her. He settled into a position that wasn't too uncomfortable for his back, smiling at her drowsily. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Grateful that the lights were out and he couldn't see her expression clearly, Natasha sighed softly, "I know." She turned so their faces were only inches apart. "I don't deserve you." Her body moving without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him. Part of it was exhaustion, part of it was seeing him flying through the window and down two stories and those agonizing moments before he started moving, but her guard was down.

He responded for a few seconds, then pulled away. "Don't," she whispered, figuring she was in for a penny, in for a pound. "You want this too. I've seen it in your eyes." They had had many moments of almost kissing before, and had become more flirtatious in their interactions. But Clint always pulled back.

"Tasha, I can't be that guy. I can't take advantage of all I know about you and your history. Of our history. You still don't realize that we're even. I am not above you or ahead of you, except in time on earth." Regret resonated in his voice. "If I took advantage of your gratitude, I would be no different than the men in the Red Room."

"Clint, it isn't about gratitude. I've been in therapy since I joined SHIELD. I _have_ made progress over these last three years, you know."

He just sighed and shook his head. He knew in so much detail what she had gone through that it was hard to believe that she could have any sort of normal sexual interaction with a man, much less him.

Now she was annoyed, "What do you need to be able to understand? A note from my therapist?"

Clint tried to suppress his amusement at the thought of her getting a note from her therapist. "Maybe. I don't know, Tasha. I just know that I can't contribute to the horrible things done to you."

The tone of his voice indicated that the discussion was over, for now. It was late, they were both exhausted and needed to sleep. She acquiesced without a word, turning over to sleep.

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><p>The next morning, as they were getting ready to leave for their rendezvous point, she spoke out suddenly, "I could get you one, you know."<p>

Clint gave her a questioning look; they hadn't spoken much that morning and that was really the first thing she had said apart from the occasional yes or no to direct questions. "You could get what?"

Natasha shrugged. "A note from my therapist." She had her back to him when she said it so didn't see the shocked look on his face.

"Uh. What? No!" Clint spluttered with surprise.

"Make up your mind then, Clint. Either you trust me that I am dealing with my issues and am free to make decisions as I want, or you need to get permission from my therapist." Her voice dropped a couple of degrees; she knew he was trying to do the right thing, but it was still wrong and she needed him to see that.

"I trust you, Tasha!" He moved closer to her, concern lining his face. "I just..." he searched for what he wanted to say. "You don't owe me anything. And I don't deserve a pedestal."

"Neither do I. Nor do I deserve kid gloves." Frustration came into her voice again. "Yes. I was abused. For all my life I've had sexual involvement with people because I've had to for survival. I'm telling you that for a change, I would like to be involved with someone because _**I**_ want to. Not because I owe you, or because you are perfect – you're not by the way – but because we work well together, and not just on the job. Because we're both so screwed up and no one can understand us like we can together. Because you-" She was cut off by Clint closing the gap between them and kissing her passionately.

When they broke, both of them were breathing hard. "I am an idiot." He leaned his forehead against hers. "And I've wanted to do that for so long."

"You are an idiot," she agreed. "And you better not stop there. We still have two hours before we have to roll." She pulled him back to her mouth.


End file.
